It was a four-poster; covered in gossamer netting.
Delicate mulmul on the windows filtered the moonlight in. It was impossibly quiet, even the crickets had ceased their song and gone to sleep. But he lay awake. His dark skin defined softly by the white sheets. There must’ve been some pixie dust about, for she woke up, instinctively reaching for his hand, twining her fingers with his. The sky was an inky blue. He didn’t speak.
He looked at her as if she was an apparition and would vanish the moment he took his eyes off. She held on to him to let him know that she wouldn’t.
She made as if to speak. He put a finger to her lips, and let it stay there. The space between them glowed as a couple of fireflies danced. His eyes were smiling. She couldn’t see them, but she knew, as she settled into the nook of his arm. She whispered a lullaby to his heart. His eyes closed.
Sunshine nudged the curtains along with the winter breeze that carried the song of the river with it. He woke up to a firefly fading into the daylight.